


chasing fractals

by Shadows-Aflame (Intergalactic_Dreamer)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Deacon is a lying dipshit and I wanna hold his hand, F/M, Fluff, Native American protagonist, Protagonist of Color, Rating may go up, Romance, Slow Burn, bi-racial protagonist, eventual Deacon/sole, f!sole was a soldier, in which the author has 0 self control, lots of pain, mild references to racial injustice, non-bostonian sole survivor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intergalactic_Dreamer/pseuds/Shadows-Aflame
Summary: "And you, doe-eyes? What's your story? You don't look like the typical merc ready to chase a pile of caps at a moment's notice."She scoffed, arching a scarred brow as strong arms crossed over her chest. "Doe-eyes? Do youhonestlyexpect that to work?""Not on you, no," he chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching in a lopsided smirk just before hiding behind a swig of ale. "But that wasn't the point I was aiming for, sweetheart."Her frown deepened, but she slid into the barstool beside him after another moment, ordering a drink of her own. "I doubt you'd believe me if I told you the truth."She caught a flash of silver lenses as he looked to her once more, and even without being able to see his eyes, could already tell he was holding back an amused laugh."I never said anything about thetruth, sweetheart."-she's a soldier forged in brutal honesty, and he's the commonwealth's best liar. if the two of them can manage anything together, there may be hope for the commonwealth's future after all.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	chasing fractals

**Author's Note:**

> chapter warnings: mild references to racism

It was only twenty-two hours after Fletcher Vasquez returned to American soil when she met the love of her life.

In hindsight, it really had been the worst place to meet someone, seated in a chilly Boston club filled with too-loud music and too-drunk fellow soldiers. Even if the group partying it up after a five-year stint in Russia was her own, she clutched a single cold bottle of Gwinnett Pale within her scarred, coppery hands as she sat on the bar’s far end. 

Sure, she was grateful for Emily’s couch upon their return- being the only two women in a regiment filled with nothing of testosterone had brought them closer than anything, after all. Still, as Fletcher watched the freckle-faced strawberry blonde swing dancing with some stranger to the loud jukebox, she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d ever let the other woman talk her into coming tonight. Where most marines would’ve spent the next few months asleep in bed before adjusting back to civilian life, Emily seemed to fall right back into it so naturally, as though she’d never been gone a single day.

As though years of power armor and muddy trenches and bloodied fingers fumbling with energy cells hadn’t affected the way she moved so effortlessly across the dance floor in a flattering blue dress.

It was something Fletcher had never understood, especially given her simplistic appearance that evening. Yet somehow, that simplicity never deterred the man who came and bought her a drink that night. Introducing herself by gesturing to the name embroidered upon her jacket, it sparked the most unexpectedly engaging conversation with this stranger.

He was all fair skin and soft, slender features- a lawyer, she soon found out after he bought her another drink, his bright blue eyes surprisingly charming beneath the bar’s colored lights. Upon further questioning, Fletcher also learned his name was Nathanael Weston, and apparently remained the sole heir to the prestigious Weston & Co. Law Firm.

Well… prestigious within the state of Massachusetts, at least, though for some reason, he didn’t seem offended when she explained the name hadn’t precisely reached as far as her hometown of Pinedale, New Mexico. Though the words earned her a look of confusion, he didn’t press the subject, choosing instead to simply chuckle and continue their banter long into the evening.

When he invited her back to his place, she never anticipated it would become her own home within the span of a few months from that night.

* * *

His parents could not have despised her more.

Between the distrustful looks and muttered opinions that they probably expected to go unheard any time she left the room, Fletcher knew even without asking that they wanted her as far away from their son as possible. She couldn’t exactly lie when they asked her where she’d come from, what her own family was like upon their first meetings. So when she described the tiny traditional Navajo _Hogan_ that she’d shared with her massive family, it was all Mr. and Mrs. Weston could do to keep from crinkling their pale noses in disgust. 

Fletcher figured it best to omit the fact that they couldn’t afford running water or electricity, knowing fully well that it would only add to their perspective of her as “uncivilized” and “unruly.” Her aversion to dresses and feminine beauty routines didn’t exactly help the image. She could feel Mrs. Weston’s cold stare on her long, simply braided ebony hair from across the table on that first night, they all shared dinner together. She always suspected the only things that kept them from throwing her out entirely were her polite mannerisms and status as a veteran of the United States Marine Corps. Nevertheless, it didn’t change their hostility towards the Navajo-Latina woman who had seemingly captured their son’s heart and tolerated her presence with begrudging reluctance.

Affectionate as he was towards her, Nathanael’s desire to please his parents often manifested in careful suggestions every time they all were to spend dinner together. He hinted towards some dresses he thought she should wear, brought home small bottles of mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick for her to try. Once, when she finally relented and donned a deep scarlet dress she’d been coaxed into, he quickly slid a sweater over her firm, bare shoulders, effectively hiding the tattoo of a traditional eight-pointed star nestled on her left shoulder blade. 

As much as Nathanael reassured her that he loved all the unique qualities that made her up, Fletcher couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhaustion every time he asked her to put on a show for his parents’ sake. Family was of the utmost importance to him- that much went without saying. She’d barely been able to speak to her own family throughout her deployment and had yet to see them in well over five years. Still, letters and occasional gifts of small blankets and jewelry woven in familiar colors brought their own kinds of comfort. Everything they sent was kept in a sturdy trunk, locked tight, and shut into the closet for safekeeping.

Nathanael never saw the letters, never knew they were written in the tongue she’d been raised upon, addressed to his girlfriend’s other designation that he never called her, for she never asked to be known by it. They were two different worlds struggling to collide already; he didn’t need to know the foreign words she sang to herself every morning as she brushed her long hair or the meanings of the small symbols tattooed into her skin. To him, she was simply the woman who teased him, who taught him how to operate her suit of power armor in the garage, or whose muscled arms held him every night as they lay together in bed.

Yet for all their shared time together, it nevertheless came as a shock when he woke her up with coffee one brisk October morning and asked if she felt like driving down to the courthouse that very day to be married.

Unsurprisingly, his parents were displeased with the prospect but didn’t find out until a week later when Nathanael held up his new wife’s hand, displaying the simple golden band for them to see upon her finger. It took her a bit longer than she would have cared to admit to growing accustomed to being called Fletcher Weston. Still, the adjustment period was short-lived, followed by another unprecedented change that crept upon them all at once.

Two weeks after the pair eloped, Nathanael awoke to his wife, retching over the toilet in their shared bathroom. Worried as he was at first, it only took them a few more hours to determine the source of her unexpected sickness- only to discover it was no sickness at all.

It was a baby. Fletcher was pregnant.

The following months then became a blur, filled with showers of gifts and preparations for a miniature human entering their lives. What used to be the spare room Nathanael used for his old case files was cleaned out by them both before being repainted and redecorated into a quaint, charming little nursery. As months passed and the room was completed, it seemed their lives became utterly consumed by the prospect of a child in their future, spending every other night tangled in bed discussing the child held within Fletcher’s swollen belly.

But the baby’s arrival proved more trying than she’d ever expected. After spending twelve hours in labor and discovering that the crying bundle of life was a boy, she and Nathanael had spent more time than she would have cared bickering softly over their child’s name. In the end, her husband prevailed when he demanded something “easily pronounced” and “simple” before sitting down with the paperwork and writing _Shaun Jacob Weston_ in bold black ink, finalizing his decision.

She didn’t have the time or energy to protest even in the following months, busy as she became thanks to all the breastfeeding, vomit, floods of diapers, and waking up at all hours of the night to settle her son’s fussing and wailing. Even after they assembled a shiny new Mr. Handy bot together, the sleepless nights didn’t seem to end, now just accompanied by the soft whirring of their home’s latest helper.

Then one day, when they’d finally managed to snag enough sleep, and the world seemed a bit brighter, Nathanael surprised her for their one-year anniversary that she’d nearly forgotten in all the chaos. Coming home from work with a bottle of wine and a slightly dented box of her favorite fudge-raspberry cake, they spent the evening watching a movie until Shaun fell fast asleep. Once he was tucked into bed, Fletcher could already feel Nathanael’s tipsy fingers fumbling with the waistband of her pants, and she didn’t hesitate to give into him.

Had she known it would be their last night on earth together, she might have taken her time with him that evening, when everything seemed to finally be fitting into place. 

Perhaps it was some cruel irony that one of the best days of her life would be followed by the day the world fell apart. A sort of calm before the sky fell; before she’d slide into a vault suit that felt too tight on the muscle and baby weight she’d gained after carrying a child for so long. She knew it was a bad idea to let Nathanael hold their child- that much ate at her even as she leaned back into the pod, watching as the two of them waved to her from across the aisle. 

His final words echoed in her mind as the world turned to white, ringing in her ears incessantly.

“ _Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you_ …”

**Author's Note:**

> How do ya do, fellow kids?
> 
> I've been wrestling with this concept for a long while now, and finally decided to try and start out what I'm hoping will be a pretty fun ride for everyone! As a native american woman myself, I wanted to explore a character who was raised with such rich culture, and how she'd fare with all the craziness of the Wasteland, on top of numerous other things. 
> 
> While I'm not Navajo myself, I've spent countless hours poring over studies of their culture and have done my best to make things as accurate as possible to the real world. If I've ever missed anything, feel free to kindly let me know throughout the story. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this introduction, and I promise there will be more action to come very, very soon!


End file.
